always know i was captivated
by BrokenWingsDontFly
Summary: when you're gone i'm a match that's burning out "Derrick, are you okay?" "If I go high enough, I'll be able to see everything." And he can't admit that he wants her-so bad-today. He wants her everyday. "Claire, I'm leaving this town tonight." Run. Now.


_Disclaimed_

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><p><em>i fought it for a long time now<em>

_while drowning in a river of denial_

_i washed up, fixed up, picked up,_

_all my broken things _

Her mouth is beautiful, curved up into a perfect smile that showcases those white even teeth. And it's all natural. She doesn't even know what she's doing to me.

I'm so focused on that smile it takes me a minute to realize she's talking. To me.

"What?" I look up at her, squinting. The swing creaks underneath me and I sway back and forth on it, my feet making indentations in the mud. It's a downpour, the rain looking like a curtain of iridescent droplets, blurring my vision.

"I said," she repeats loudly, blue eyes rolling, as she sits down on the swing next to me, after daintily patting the plastic seat dry, "what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Princess," I tease, hoping she doesn't notice how her question hit a nerve or how my hands clench over the rusty metal chains. Wet strands of hair stick to my forehead and I brush them away impatiently.

"Oh, you know," Claire stretches back, her face tilting towards the sky. Raindrops streaked down her pale face. "I was tempted by that school girl fantasy of dancing in the rain, catching raindrops on my tongue thereby gaining superpowers that would allow me to beam up to a place where unicorns fly around and eat blueberry muffins and poop rainbows."

I raise an eyebrow. "I never heard of that before."

"Of course you haven't," Claire scoffs. "School _girl_ fantasy. You're a boy."

"Did anyone ever tell you you're insane?" I ask her and she rolls her eyes. I'd never admit it, but I secretly love this side of her, almost as much as I love getting on her nerves.

"Why, thank you, Derrick. You're always so nice to me." She sat up straight and started kicking her feet out.

I don't say anything. Normally I'm not this…this nervous. Or unsure. Derrick Harrington knew how to talk to girls, but for some reason, Claire made me lose my freaking mind. I never knew what to say, or how to keep the conversation going. God, I was so boring.

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><p>Claire Lyons is complicated. This all started when she first came to BOCD High, because she just had to be assigned to the seat next to me. Of course I noticed her; everyone did. She was the New Girl in a town so small and insignificant, people didn't even stop to get gas here. She was really a refreshing presence. Totally unlike the girls who obsessed over clothes, magazines and calories, or the girls who giggled like mad when a boy looked their way.<p>

She wasn't hot per se. According to Plovert, she only ranked number seven on his fuckable list. She didn't wear reveling clothes or make-up at that time, but she seemed to have this glow and sweet motherfucker, she was always smiling.

Mrs. Kang was our homeroom teacher that year and because BOCD was messed up, our teachers came to us so the seating chart in homeroom was very important. And I hated Mrs. Kang but the minute she placed me and Claire at a table together with no one else nearby (well, the only people close by were nerds and creeps), I wanted to bake her a cake.

But Claire didn't give me the time of day. She didn't try to talk to me or flirt or anything. Hell, I would have done anything for her to just look at me. So I did. I took her pens. I doodled on her papers. I tried to piss her off, but she would just stare at me, shoot me a retort or roll her eyes. The girl just didn't like me.

Oh and she was ticklish—I found this out when I accidentally poked her side (yes, it REALLY was an accident. God. ) And then I started to tickle her whenever I could, poking her in class and hugging her, after she admitted to me she didn't like touching people. I teased her mercilessly, about anything I could, whenever I could, just to get her attention.

Yeah, I had a crush on her.

And somewhere on that road of trying to find the balance between her hating me and me liking her, we became friends. Sort of. She's not like Josh or Cam and I'm definitely not her new Layne, but she walked out here in the pouring rain because she saw I was alone. I _knew _that's why she came. Claire told me things I knew she didn't mean to tell me and whenever she opened up, I wasn't an ass. She liked me, as a friend, even if she wouldn't admit it in front of people. With other people, we were just classmates.

This, right here, right now, this could be anything.

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><p>"So," Claire says after a long but somehow not awkward silence, "what are really doing out here, Derrick?" Is it wrong that she turns me on when she says my name?<p>

"Nothing."

But Claire doesn't buy it and, true to form, she plows on. "Seriously. You can tell me. I mean, why could you be out in the pouring rain, alone? What's wrong with your house?"

"Maybe I want it to burn," I say savagely, more venom in it than I had intended. I'd meant it as a joke, but it didn't come out like it.

Claire's staring at me now, I can feel like. She looks at me, the movement of her head turning causing her white blond hair to whip around, slapping into her face. I bet she's wondering if I'm insane or emo or something. "What do you have against your house?"

"Nothing," I say, suddenly interested in watching my toe dig designs in the mud. I made a smiley face, trying to be optimistic, but it looked weird so I frowned and crossed it out.

"The house a symbol of family, y'know," persisted Claire, looking back up at the sky. She's skating on the edge of my soul right now and she doesn't even know. The ice is thinning and if I drag her down, she'll see just how deep my hell is.

I keep swinging back and forth, eyes looking up at the sky. It's seven a.m, but you wouldn't be able to tell from the color of the storm. It should be light blue, getting lighter every passing moment.

But it's a nameless, colorless, ugly shade of gray. The color of destruction. The color of hopelessness. The color of nothing.

And for some strange, twisted reason, I like it.

"Well, I can't stand houses," I say sharply, looking at her full on, blue eyes piercing blue eyes, "or family for that matter." The playfulness faded from her face, leaving her looking young and confused and serious. I looked away pointedly, jaw working pointless. Damn it. Why couldn't I keep my stupid mouth shut?

The rain seems to fade to a faint pitter-patter; just background noise and the rumbling thunder seems softer somehow.

"Derrick." I can feel her swing come to a screeching halt without having to look at her. "Are you okay?"

One of my hand rests on one of the wooden poles that supports the swing set. It's old and splintering. Everything is old. That's why no one comes here anymore. They all go to the newer, cleaner, nicer park up on Moore Street, because the paint isn't chipped and peeling, the plastic isn't melted from the sun and there's no graffiti sprayed on the benches.

My backpack's down on the ground underneath me, resting on the tan bark. You can't tell from the outside, but I know, from experience, that my inside my phone's vibrating, the screen lighting up and displaying…how many missed calls? Two? Five? Ten? I don't know. And I don't care.

I kick off the ground with my feet—hard. I want to go up. I want to touch the silvery stars, I want to cut through the sky, I want to fly away. Far away.

The chains on the swing are rusty and groan more and more the higher I go. For a minute, I envision the swinging collapsing and me falling down onto the asphalt. The idea gives me chills and a rush of adrenaline, which is pretty sick, I guess. I slow down, hands clenching the old chains, the icy metal kissing my hands.

If I go high enough, I'll be able to see everything. This small playground, the cluster of suburban houses across the street, the small section of trees behind me. Maybe I'll even be able to see the whole town; the new shopping center, the GoodEats grocery store, the post office and El Chico's, the best burritos in town.

"Derrick," Claire whispers again. Slowly, I come to a stop, trying to unclench my fists. They're white around the knuckles and soaked in rain. I look at her; fully look at her.

She looks good. Still a bit short for sixteen and her face is still full of freckles, but you can tell she's matured in the two years she's been here. The black eyeliner drawing attention to her blue eyes. The clear lip gloss over her perfect smile. Hair full and voluminous thanks to Massie Block introducing her to some new hair products. But I don't see that when I look at her. I still see the New Girl. I'll always see the New Girl.

She's wearing jeans and a Harvard sweatshirt, both damp, and is shivering slightly, breaths coming out in little pants. I wonder what she's doing here. What she's really doing here. Why she'd want to leave her warm house for a someone who she doesn't really know what call; a friend, an old enemy, an acquaintance. Why she's up when the rest of the world is sleeping. If she's up because she can't sleep, because she has nightmares like I do. Nightmares that leave you shivering from a cold that's not there.

"I'm fine," I force myself to tell her. To lie to her. "Just had a bad day."

"At seven in the morning?" Skeptical.

Crap.

"Oh, well, you know," I say casually. "Day, night. I don't discriminate." Good save, Harrington, good save.

Claire bites her lip, like she does when she doesn't get something in math but is too proud to raise her hand. I would instead and make a big production of it, and our math teacher would roll his eyes at how stupid I was. But the answer was boxed in at the bottom of my worksheet, correct.

"Derrick…" Claire's voice turns serious. I look at her and hope she thinks I don't care. Her opinion of me can be the lowest of the low sometimes, because I show her a Derrick who thinks life is a joke. It's my damn pride, too. If she sees how weak I really am and how fucked up I am inside, she'll be running out of this town faster than our track star.

"I have to go, Claire." Just saying her name will I still can. _Claire, Claire, Claire_. I'd wanted her for so long. I'd wanted her smiles and her laughs and her kisses, and yes, I wanted her body too. I still want her body. I still want everything about her.

"Go where?" _Damn_.

I turn around, arming myself with a grin so fake she has to see through it. "Home. Symbol of family, you know."

Claire narrows her eyes. God, I want to kiss her right now. I want her to kiss me back. Fuck, I want to do it right here with her, in the middle of the pouring rain, on the swings. "Derrick, don't lie to me."

_I don't want to lie to you. _"Look, why do you even care? Just….fuck off," I make sure my words are extra harsh and I scowl at her.

"Stop trying to act tough. You're just trying to get me pissed so I leave you alone," Claire stands up and walks straight up to me. Her head is right under my chin. I could grab her and kiss her, but I don't dare to even breath her air. "But you don't want me to leave."

I scoff at that, looking down at her in disdain, but secretly, I drink up every detail of her face greedily. "What makes you think that?"

"Because you're still here."

I'm so mad and confused and everything is spinning around me. My fucked up family, the scars on my hands burning and the bruises blossoming on my chest aching. I act like the world can't touch me but I'm starting to think the world's too big for me. And there's Claire. It's _Claire_.

_Claire, I'm leaving this town tonight. Claire, I'm leaving my past and my parents and all my problems and this town in the dust tonight. Claire, I'm going to run away. Claire, I've been in love with you since forever. Claire, I'm never going to see you again. _

_Claire, if there was ever a girl I was going to spend eternity with, it would have been you. _

I can't bring myself to say those things, though. All of as sudden, I crush her against me and I'm kissing her. She's still in my arms at first and then…and then _she's kissing me back. _

It might have been days. It might have been years. It might have been my entire life, I'm not really sure. Everything was a passion infused haze. I don't know how far we went. I don't know if she said anything. All I remember is her face at the end, when I broke away, breathless. She's mouthing my name, her face flushed and raw, confused and startled.

I don't have a lot of time. I can't search her face to see if she wanted me or not. I took my bag and started running. And Claire didn't follow.

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><p><strong>Feedback is always welcome XD <strong>

**Watcha think? Too angsty? Not angsty enough?**

**xx**

**bree**


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